


the battle for france

by Hitoshi



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Anger, Awkward Conversations, Comfort Sex, Domestic Fluff, Drama Before The Calm, England Needs Tea (Hetalia), FACE Family, Family Feels, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, Gay Panic, Gay Sex, Gen, Gentleness, Historical Hetalia, Hospitalization, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Nazis, One-Sided America/England (Hetalia), One-Sided Attraction, Papa France (Hetalia), Period-Typical Racism, Plans For The Future, Politics, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Recovery, Semi-Public Sex, Soldiers, Suicidal Thoughts, Talking, Torture, Underage Smoking, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:27:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25141645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hitoshi/pseuds/Hitoshi
Summary: France had been the first major Power to fall and become captured by the Nazis. Francis fought with the French Resistance, of course, aiding the Allies in the best way he could while fighting for control of his country. His status as a personification didn't make him immune to capture though.
Relationships: America & Canada & England & France (Hetalia), America/England (Hetalia), England/France (Hetalia)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 68





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey! So, a bit of info-dumping b/c everyone has their own interps of how the personification thing works. For me, they're just normal people living their lives that just happen to be immortals. Of course, some officials know about this and others likely suspect, but it isn't confirmed. They don't get a pension from their government, they don't get special treatment. They're just people.

“Papa!”

Oh how he wished to hear Mattheiu’s voice call him by that once more. He once thought that he could never forget the sound of Mattheiu's voice, but of course, that was before the Nazis got their hands onto him. He had endured many things, torture being one of them. The Nazis were an imaginative bunch though, and being kept for years certainly wore on the psyche.

There it was, that voice again, calling him.

Ha, it was probably a trick. How many times had he dreamed of hearing Angleterre-- no, Arthur's voice. Scolding him, whispering to him, telling him what a tool he was, what a-a nincompoop he was to get captured. It was bound to happen eventually. He knew what he was getting into when he joined La Résistance. He only hoped that Arthur hadn't gotten captured like him.

'They wouldn't treat him badly' He thought. If his experiences being captured when he was in the French Army was something to compare to how Englishmen would be treated, it would be better than living in France currently.

Then again, Arthur was a violent one who didn't know when to keep his mouth shut. He'd fight and fight. He wasn't like Francis who would crumple and fall after a few rounds of torture.

Distantly, he thought about how glad Arthur didn't have a pretty face like he did.

It was louder now. Was something happening? He hated when people were yelling. He shrank back into the murky dark depths that kept him safe.

He could hear someone sobbing. If he could feel, he'd feel pity for the poor boy. Whoever he was, he sounded young, as young as Mattheiu.

Francis didn't like the idea of child soldiers. He had been one himself oh so long ago. He did his best to shield Mattheiu from the same fate.

His poor boy. He was being thrust into a World War one after the other.

The shouting had stopped.

He blearily opened his eyes just a sliver. He was hungry. Even if there wasn't food, even a rat would do. Sometimes they were all there was.

The first thing he noticed was the light. Dizziness hit him immediately. How long had it been since he'd seen the light? He squinted and stayed as still as possible, taking care to not grimace.

Once his sight adjusted, he looked around.

It was all white. What? Was he in the infirmary? He was just a prisoner though. Just a prisoner. He didn't have the right to be treated. He was inferior.

A sudden movement caught his eye. It was a doctor approaching with a syringe filled with Godknowswhat.

He couldn't help it. Panic shot through his veins and he screamed.

* * *

Arthur knew it was the bloody frog the moment he saw the man laying in the cot. It didn't matter how emaciated he was or how long his beard and hair grew, Arthur knew.

God, he was so thin. Francis always had a lithe figure, but this. It was far too much. His gaunt face haunted Arthur's mind as he ran forward, stopping at Francis' cot and trembling as he did, Arthur held two fingers and pressed them right under Francis' neck.

THUMP. THUMP.

Relief flowed through him and he kept his fingers there, lapping up the beats like a man deprived of water.

He was alive.

Even if Francis had died, he'd have come back, but the knowledge that he was alive while Arthur felt up his neck filled Arthur with a certain giddiness he couldn't explain.

"Is he your friend?" a soft voice piped up. Arthur turned and saw a pretty looking girl with a smattering of freckles across her cheeks. He didn't miss the red cross on her armband.

"You could say that. Were you the one who treated him?"

She nodded. "Yes. I did my best. He should be expected to survive…"

They both hoped that was the case. Optimism was needed in times like these. But sometimes, there were causes of death that would manifest themselves past the point of treatment just as the person afflicted took their last breath.

"Thank you." Arthur said sincerely. "I should get out of your way, shouldn't I?"

"Yessir."

She was a shy thing, he noted. A bit like Matthew.

Speaking of Matthew, he'd need to tell the boys he found Francis. Alfred was likely still fighting in the Pacific or helping clean up the mess that was Europe currently. Never had Arthur thought that the little boy who clung to his coattails so long ago would be the one helping him stand proudly once more. He always knew Alfred was special though.

And Matthew… Matthew was always closer to Francis than he was to Arthur. To Arthur, Matthew was just a quiet and obedient boy. He never stepped out of line. Half of that, Arthur felt, came from his silent resentment of Arthur. He pushed those thoughts away. Matthew was far more accessible than Alfred right now and that was what mattered. Judging by the state of Francis, he'd need support when he woke up. Matthew was good at that. Arthur on the other hand was marginally better at it than Alfred.

He snorted softly. Perhaps why Alfred grew up to be so tone-deaf and power hungry was because he raised him. A shame he only absorbed the negative traits.

He couldn't mull on these nostalgic thoughts any further though. As nice as they were, Arthur had a job to do.

He tapped the shoulder of a wandering soldier.

"I'm from the British Forces. Take me to the prison where you found these men."

He'd make sure whoever did this to Francis would pay.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Longer chapter today haha. I hope you all enjoy. Comments are appreciated <3 Also, America and Russia will be appearing in later chapters. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten them !
> 
> Also TW for suicidal thoughts and implied r*pe in this chapter

Matthew had to read Arthur’s letter twice once he got it. Papa was alive? And he had been captured by the Germans?  _ No. It couldn’t be.  _

His thoughts raced as they always did, but this time, they were filled with images of Papa. How was he? Was he okay? Was he still... there? He knew what the Germans-- what sick, twisted, horrible people could do, especially to members of La Résistance. The few letters Papa wrote to him before… before they stopped, told him about the dangers of fighting in the war. They were always cheerful and sweet, but Matthew  _ knew.  _ He knew the realities Papa was trying to hide from him. The people of Europe were starving. They were days away from death sometimes. They had no home, no place to hide from the bombs that flew over their heads, and that was just the common people. For people like Papa, the situation was far more dire. 

What had Papa gone through under the hands of those Germans? 

By the time he reached Lyon, he was sure that he had mentally run 26 marathons around all of Europe already. 

_ How many times had he been beaten? Starved? Was he a skeleton now? Would he have that same dead look in his eyes as--  _

_ No. _ It was  _ Papa _ . Papa was strong. He was fearless and brave. He wouldn’t fall, he couldn’t.

(Matthew knew the children of the men he helped liberate thought the same about their fathers too)

“Matthew!” 

He turned and only now had he realized how happy he could be when seeing those bushy eyebrows of Arthur’s. 

“Dad!”

He ran to Arthur, hugging the shorter man tightly. At least he was okay. At least Arthur was okay and hadn’t been held in a cell or gotten tortured half to--

“Whoa there, son! I didn’t know you and Alfred switched places.” 

“Take me to Papa.”

He couldn’t spare time for jokes or pleasantries. He needed to get to Papa. Arthur sighed and patted Matthew on the back.

“I will once you put me on the ground again.” He admonished gently.

“Oh.” Matthew immediately released Arthur, cheeks burning hotly. “Sorry.” He mumbled. He acted just like a child! A tall, strong manchild… he just realized how much he fit Alfred’s description. 

“It’s fine.” Arthur sighed softly. “I know you’re worried about your father. Come, Matthew.”

The words  _ ‘You’re my dad too’ _ died in his throat before he allowed it to be released to the world. The words felt too personal, too private. He wasn’t ready to say them. Arthur felt like a father to Matthew, he did. It was just hard to acknowledge him as that. Arthur was already walking ahead without him and it was too late to tell him that and--

He just stepped behind Arthur and walked. 

The medical tents were something Matthew was used to seeing. How many times had he heard a man scream as he woke up and realized that he was missing his lower half? Far too many times. He hoped Papa wasn’t the same. 

“Matthew.”

Before he knew it, he was standing in front of a cot with a misshapen, skeletal thing. His hair was matted and caked in grime, as was his beard. And his face! Oh God, his face. It was all puffy and swollen and Matthew thought he could hear a whimper coming from Papa.

Wait. 

He was the one making that noise. 

“Matthew…” repeated Arthur’s soothing voice. “I know this is hard to see. It’s hard for me too, but this is-- this is Francis. Your father.”

“I know.” When he spoke, it felt like his throat had been pierced with hundreds of glass shards. It hurt to speak. It was too much to take in. This was  _ Papa  _ and he was lying on the cot, motionless like a corpse.

“Are you sure he’s still…?”

A gloved hand clasped itself over his and he let it guide him to Papa’s throat. His knees felt weak and he leaned back against Arthur for support. He was  _ alive.  _

“Feel it, Matthew. His heart's still beating. He’s alive, and when he wakes up… he’ll need you to help him adjust.” 

“How?”

How could he help Papa? When Papa woke up, would he still remember Matthew? Would he be able to speak about… this or would he shrink away and wallow with alcohol and tobacco?

“I don’t know.” 

Arthur sat down in a chair by Francis’ cot and spoke in a bone-aching weary way that made Matthew want to cry. “I don’t know, son. But whatever we can do, we must.” He spared a glance at Francis. “Keep calm and carry on. That’s the only thing we  _ can _ do.” 

Matthew took a deep breath.

“Tell me what they did to him.”

“Ah-- what?” Arthur choked. 

“I need to know.” Matthew said firmly. “What are his injuries? Where are the men who hurt him? How long had he been held?”

Arthur held out a hand, prompting Matthew to close his mouth.

“I think a doctor would best answer your first question. The other two… we don’t have concise answers, but I have an estimate of how long he’s been held. The men, on the other hand, some of the guards have been captured, others have gotten away.” Arthur confessed. “But I won’t stop until I find them, even if I have to go hunting for them myself.” He finished firmly. 

After Arthur cleared his throat, he spoke again. “I went to the prison where he was held for documentation purposes… many great men suffered and perished within those walls.” His face was carefully controlled and even though Matthew knew Arthur wanted to break his composure and smash something, he didn’t. “No one will forget what happened there. Not if I have a say in what’s to happen.”

He stood up and beckoned for Matthew to sit where Arthur had been sitting. “I’m going to get a doctor, alright? Just… talk to him. Maybe that’ll help that twit wake up faster.” 

Matthew nodded as he took a seat. “Sure.” 

Once Arthur walked off, Matthew slipped his hand into Papa’s and held onto it like a lifeline.

“Papa.” He whispered. “Please, please wake up soon.” 

If they were in private, Matthew would have had no qualms against collapsing all over Papa’s chest like he did when he was small. Unfortunately, there was no privacy to be held here. “I love you.” He whispered. “I love you so much.” He could feel the gauze and sticks that were used to set Papa’s fingers correctly. One of his favorite things about Francis were his hands. His fingers were long and graceful and Matthew always enjoyed it when Papa played the piano for him and sang in his silvery voice. Those days were over now, though.

Matthew inspected Francis’ twisted fingers. The nurses and doctors had done their best to set them, but they’d never be the same. He moved further up Papa’s hand. His wrist was wrapped tightly with bandages. Underneath were ligature marks, no doubt. Papa would have escaped if they didn’t tie him up. Maybe he tried to and that was why he was in such bad shape. 

“I’ll be very upset if you don’t wake up soon, Papa.” He said quietly. Papa always hated it when Matthew was upset. Maybe he hated it enough to force himself awake even though he was half dead. 

“Matthew.”

Matthew immediately let go of Papa’s hand. Arthur was there with a nurse by his side. 

“This young lady treated Francis. I’ve asked her to explain the extent of his injuries.” Arthur explained as a doctor walked past the two with a syringe in hand.

“A doctor’s going to give him some medicine now.” The nurse piped up.

“What’s it for??” Matthew couldn’t help it. He just had to know. 

“It’s for intestinal parasites.” The nurse, bless her heart, explained. “His condition isn’t very different from the other prisoners who were liberated. Um… the doctor said he and the other prisoners also have alimentary dys-tro-phy? They’ll need to be reintroduced to regular food slowly.”

Arthur was nodding slowly. He was probably making a mental list of this thing. Mathew knew his habits. 

“What about his injuries?” He asked. “Is he going to make a full recovery?”

The nurse looked rather uncertain at this and her voice wavered. “Well… hopefully. We’re giving him antibiotics to treat the parasites and his infections, but… things happen all the time.” Meaning that if Papa’s condition were to take a turn for the worst, sometimes they couldn’t do anything about it. 

“I see…” Arthur and Matthew both spoke in unison. Matthew blushed.

_ God that was so embarrassing. _

Before they could say another word, a blood-chilling scream echoed through the medical tents and glass shattered. 

Matthew turned and the mangled skeleton that was his Papa was awake.   
  


* * *

_  
No, no, he couldn’t handle this again. _

_ Please, God have mercy. _

_ It was too much. Not now, not ever. _

_ Why couldn’t he have just died? That would have been easier, he would have crawled out of that pit of bodies and inched his way to freedom. Sweet, sweet freedom. He wanted to feel the soft grass on his feet and the warm, welcoming sun on his face again. Just once. Just once and he’d let himself die. He told himself he needed to be strong for Matthieu. If he just gave up now, what sort of example would he give his boy? _

_ (He’d show him that it was okay to not suffer) _

There was screaming coming from somewhere--  _ someone had their hands on him. _

His throat felt hoarse. His throat ached. He wanted  _ water _ . He needed to earn it though and sometimes earning it was worse than the release he got from drinking. 

Something shattered and he was going to get punished, he fucking knew it was a mistake waking up. 

A wretched sob caught in his throat and he half expected to feel tears. He  _ hoped  _ he had tears. Then he would have moisture.

He felt himself being pushed down and couldn’t find enough dignity to not beg. 

_ “Je demander pitié.”  _

The hands weren’t there anymore and he repeated.

_ “Je demander pitié.” _

He knew what was going to happen was inevitable. It wasn’t like his brains had been beaten out. He could only ask for them to not leave him torn in half. 

He was enveloped in a pair of arms that held him close. Wait. What was happening? A voice crooned in his ear in accented French. 

“Je t'adore. Vous êtes en sécurité. Vous êtes en sécurité. Ça va aller.”

There was a pause and he pleaded with God that what he heard hadn’t been a trick.

“You’re safe. Francis, everything is going to be okay.”

He took deep, heaving breaths as he held up his arms and slowly wrapped them around the torso of the person who was holding him so tenderly.

“You came.” 

His voice was thick with emotion and so was theirs.

“I did.” said Arthur with one arm cradling the back of Francis’ head and the other wrapped around his torso. “How could you get captured, you slimy sod?” The man’s voice broke as he spoke.

Francis buried his face into the crook of Arthur’s neck and he wept.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sigh sorry for the delay. I was sulking over the contest results [I didn't even rank :( ] and I just got my AP results back today after stressing over them for a week... 
> 
> In this chapter, we have a derogatory term for the Japanese and we see Alfred! (for a brief moment :P )

Francis just wouldn’t let go. He was always a handsy fellow, but this was taking it to another level. Arthur hadn’t ever had anyone hold one of his arms with both hands since America was a child, but this sudden reintroduction, Arthur didn’t really mind. 

One hand was twisted around his and the other was tucked into his elbow. Francis was practically leaning on him at this point! He didn’t mind though. This, he certainly didn’t mind, not at all. Though it was a bit hard to focus with the men breathing down his neck. Heat was pricking him uncomfortably-- bloody hell, he should have removed his coat. 

The doctor rattled on to Francis about his condition and Arthur’s leg was jackrabbiting. He knew he was doing his job, but couldn’t he read the mood?! He wanted to be alone with Francis and Matthew. Where was his American boy when he needed some brash rudeness to hurry things along?

Francis was slumped over his side. No doubt the man was tired. Arthur attempted to move his arm to wrap around Francis’ back, but no, the man held him firm. 

“-- And, to treat his lice, we’ll need to shave his head.” The doctor finished his monologue with a sympathetic glance at Francis.

“What?” Arthur’s austere face matched his tone perfectly. 

The doctor backtracked. “Well, it’s a common form of treatment-- it’ll also ensure that the lice doesn’t spread to anyone else. It’s a precaution for the rest of us as well.”

“Absolut--”

“It’s fine.” Francis’ hoarse voice spoke over Arthur’s and he turned to look at the man, horror in his eyes.

“But-- it’s your  _ hair. _ Your pride and joy.”

“It’s only hair. It’ll grow back.” His reserved tone stabbed at Arthur’s heart. 

He knew that the doctor and Francis were right. He just… He couldn’t bear to see Francis lose another part of himself. He gently squeezed Francis’ hand and his carefully maintained stiff upper lip couldn’t help but twitch into a smile when Francis squeezed back. 

“I’ll also need to give him his medicine. I’ll need one of his arms for that though.” Was that judgement he heard in the doctor’s voice?

“What is it?” Francis asked cautiously, eyes never leaving the doctor. 

“Neoarsphenamine.” The doctor explained. “It’s for your intestinal parasites. You’ll get one more shot a few days from now and then no more injections.” He paused. “Other than for morphine.”

The nurse slipped the doctor another syringe and motioned for Francis to extend an arm. He did with a shaky breath and shut his eyes. Arthur took this chance to snake his arm around Francis’ torso and let the Frenchman hold onto the other one. The needle went in and Francis made a horrible groaning noise that left as fast as it came. 

“It’s over now.” The nurse said quietly.

“Merci.” He whispered.

“He needs a lot of rest.” The doctor gave Arthur a pointed look, and with that, he turned on his heel and walked off.

“Uh… Papa?”

He couldn’t believe he forgot that Matthew was with them.

Bloody hell, what sort of father could do such a thing?

“Matthieu.” 

Francis released Arthur’s arm and reached out to Matthew. The boy gladly took the invitation to engulf Francis in a tight hug that Arthur scrambled to get out of the way of. 

“My precious boy.” Francis choked out, blue eyes gleaming with tears. His fingers were gingerly touching Matthew’s back. “I’m so sorry.  _ Je t'en prie, pardonne-moi _ . Forgive me. I left you  _ all alone. _ If I could, I’d have told you, I-I’m sorry you have to see me this way.”

“Papa, it wasn’t your fault. I’m so sorry you suffered so much, I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier…”

Arthur took this as a sign for him to quietly slip off. This moment wasn’t for him to see. Those two had a bond like no other… he wondered if his and Alfred’s would have been the same had things been different. He sighed. He was a fool for indulging in his thoughts. Francis needed water, and Arthur would get that for him. Water and some food. He caught a bit of what Francis needed to eat. Nothing too rich, simple proteins and carbohydrates. So simple meat and bread. Good, they had that in their rations. Finding fresh fruits and vegetables would be infinitely harder one they got to that stage. This was Stage One. Francis would move onto Stage Two and so on and then he’d be okay. He’d be just like before and that was what mattered. 

Arthur walked back to Francis’ cot with a cup of water in hand. Matthew was laying his head in Francis’ lap and Francis was running his splinted fingers through the boy’s hair. 

“I got you some water.” 

Francis looked up, eyes filled with relief. 

“Thank you.” He said quietly, continuing to pet Matthew. “He’s sleeping. It’s been… a long time since I’ve seen him face to face.”

‘And most of that was my fault.’ Arthur thought painfully. Hindsight was 20/20. He had only wanted territory and to spite the bastard frog. He hadn’t thought about how he was splitting up families. Family meant nothing to him, especially after he lost Alfred. 

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that.” Francis mumbled. “I… wasn’t myself.” 

Arthur snorted. 

“I know.” He said gravely. “You think I blame you though? Matthew’s no longer a…” Arthur looked at Matthew’s sleeping face. “Well. He is still a child. But don’t you dare think that he’s like an actual teenage boy. He’s one of us. We’re… we killed when we were toddlers. Played with weapons before we could talk.”

“I never wanted that life for Matthew.” Francis’ voice sounded pained. “I wanted to… protect. I wanted to protect him. But it seems like I couldn’t even protect myself.” 

He sounded so stupid. What sort of pathetic arse thought this!

“You were sold out, is what you are. It wasn’t your fault that you got captured. You’re lucky you didn’t die.” He snapped, silver tongue lashing out like a whip. “You didn’t give up and die when you could have just rolled over and died.”

“Mon ami.” He gave Arthur a self-deprecating smile. “I’m a coward, that’s what I am. I… hid. I hid and didn’t fight. I did what they wanted. I never struggled. Not for long at least. You think too highly of me.”

There were so many things he wanted to say. So many things he wanted to scream into the stupid bastard’s ears, but his mouth felt drier than the Sahara desert. His voice died in his throat before it even had the chance to reveal itself. 

“How long had I been held?” asked Francis’ soft voice.

“About a year.” 

“Just a year?”

“... About that much, yes.”

“Oh. I thought it was longer.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t.”  
  


* * *

  
“Jones!”

Alfred opened his eyes just a sliver and groaned as he sat up and stretched. 

“What, are the Japs attacking again?” he grumbled as he fumbled for his glasses. “Our guys do some fucked up shit?” 

He knew he should have been more respectful, but those values had degraded as quickly as they’d been told to him after repeated combat with the Japanese. Who could blame him though? He had just pulled an all-night shift and God did he just want to  _ get some sleep. _

“No, no, son. You’re being sent home.”

“What?!” 

He immediately stood to attention, saluting so quickly that he nearly knocked his glasses off his face. 

“Sir, did I do something wrong? I’ve been listening, yeah? I know I shouldn’t be giving my rations to the kids as much, but I promise, I’ll cut back on it!”

That was a blatant lie. He’d keep doing it, just under the table. 

“Stop.” His CO held his hand up and Alfred shut his mouth immediately. “You've been a great soldier. One of the best I’ve had. You’re an all-American boy. We have to remember that that’s all you are though: a boy.”

_ ‘I’m older than you, you old fart. _ ’ Alfred thought mutinously. 

“Here. This will explain things better. You’re needed in France, where your father is. I didn’t expect him to be an Englishman.” The CO snorted. 

“Wha-?” Alfred snatched the letter out of his CO’s hand and quickly skimmed the contents written in curly, prim handwriting. Like it was written by a proper Englishman. “What the fuck? They found--- they found my uncle! Goddamn. What a fucking miracle. I thought he was dead!” He exclaimed giddily. 

“Right, and this father of yours has a lot of pull it seems. He wants you back with him as soon as possible.”

“When do I go??” He demanded, quickly pulling on his uniform shirt-- it was way too hot to wear it even at night.

“We’re making arrangements now. Send your uncle my regards.” He said sympathetically to Alfred. “The less people the Jerries kill, the more likely we are to win. The people they leave living might as well be dead though.”

“Right.” Alfred mumbled as he packed his things up. His CO droned on and on, but he only had one thought on his mind

_ I’m going to see them again. All of them. _


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aa thank you so much for the kind comments everyone!! they really do keep me going <3 i'm giving you guys a bit of fluff after those three chapters of angst oops. angst is kinda my thing :') i'm slowly introducing new characters and i have a fuzzy outline of where i want this story to go by the way-

He’d get his last injection today. Francis shuddered as he rubbed over where he had his previous injection just a few days prior. Arthur was fussing over him not gaining even an ounce! He snorted at that memory. Arthur’s way of judging whether he gained weight or not was wrapping his hand around Francis’ wrist, seeing as they didn’t have scales. 

“Time to eat now, frog.” Arthur sat down with a tray of food in his hands. “You’re still much too thin.” He fussed over Francis like a mother hen. 

Francis snorted, “Mon ami, I’ve only been eating for a few days. If you try to speed up my recovery, I fear I may burst at the seams!” He retorted. “Remember what the doctor said.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I do remember. That’s why I’m steadily increasing the amount of food you’re eating with every meal.” He sounded quite proud of himself even though that statement made Francis groan.

“Arthur,” came Matthew’s soft voice, “You shouldn’t force him too much--” 

Francis turned to Matthew with hope in his eyes, love in his heart, and-

“-- Alfred’s coming and he doesn’t need  _ two  _ people shoving food down his throat.”

And immediately his hopes and dreams were crushed, stepped on, thrown off a cliff, and sunk into a deep dark abyss somewhere within the sea. 

“Alfred? Already? I’m surprised he got my letter that fast!” Arthur said, bewildered. 

Matthew shrugged. “You  _ are _ an important member within the British Army. It makes sense that your letter would be fast tracked to whomever is receiving your letter. The only thing I’m surprised at is how fast he sent the letter back. The last letter he sent me said that he tries to write back to all his fangirls individually.”

Francis snickered at that. “If he takes after me, he probably wouldn’t have enough time.” He said smugly, earning a gentle rap on his forehead from Arthur. 

“Don’t poison Matthew with your degeneracy!” Arthur flushed. 

“You know, when you blush, your neck turns red as well.” Francis batted his eyelashes at the ruffled Brit. 

“Oh-- Sod off!” Arthur threw his hands up in the air. “Enjoy eating your meal alone then! Have Matthew help you!” And he stomped off.

Matthew and Francis stared at each other and Matthew subtly showed Francis his watch.

“I’m betting 30 seconds.” Francis grinned.

“I don’t know, Papa, I’m betting a minute. You’ve been making him annoyed recently.” Matthew commented off-handedly, staring at the ground like he was an utter saint that had no hand in making sure Arthur had no peace.

Forty-five seconds later, Arthur stomped back inside. 

“Well-- it would be irresponsible of me to leave you to Matthew. Who knows what demented things you might try to teach him.” Arthur raved as he quickly took a seat and picked up the tray of food. 

Francis nodded in a mockingly-prim fashion and opened his mouth to eat what Arthur had spooned to him, his splinted fingers crossed delicately on his lap.

Behind Arthur, Matthew grinned as he flashed Francis his watch. 

_ I win. _ He mouthed to Francis.

Francis waited till Arthur wasn’t looking to wink at Matthew and mouthed  _ Tie. _

And for the rest of the day, Arthur couldn’t figure out why Father and Son were flashing each other such mischievous looks.

* * *

He landed his plane with ease on the grassy fields of Lyon. 

“Montluc Prison, Montluc Prison.” He mumbled over and over again as he looked at the little map that had been given to him as well as the letter. Really, he hadn’t been surprised when Arthur included the map using their special ‘secret ink’ like he did when they were younger and Alfred was too young to be a soldier, yet he wanted to ‘fight for the Crown’ anyway. 

“I guess you never change, do you, Artie?” Alfred murmured under his breath as the makeshift medical facility came into sight. He carefully folded up the map and slid it into a pocket of his bomber jacket. He hummed quietly under his breath:

_ Beautiful Dreamer, wake unto me, _

_ Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee _

He couldn’t stop himself from grinning. He was going to see Matthew and Francis and most importantly-- Arthur. 

He had idolized that man since childhood. That idolization grew and grew until he didn’t know what it became anymore-- actually, no. He knew what it was. He just never wanted to admit it for fear of ruining what they had already. Eventually, those feelings came to a head and what happened was well known to everyone, as the American Revolution. Many during that time would say that their most memorable moment was when American and French forces combined to fight under George Washington and defeated General Cornwallis. 

For Alfred, though, it was the moment he was cornered-- literally against a rock-- by Arthur with the man’s bayonet at his throat. His own rifle was out of ammo-- he was finished. Even if his country won… he didn’t. Arthur’s face was full of righteous fury, the kind that Alfired imagined was only meant for his enemies. 

He wanted to speak to Arthur, to reach his hands out to the man and tell him,  _ This was all for you. One day, I’ll become a strong country, and we’ll stand together side by side. _

He had always wanted to tell Arthur that. But he knew Arthur’s reaction though. The man would laugh it off and give him a pat on the head or the back and pinch his cheek for being so forward. Now, though? He couldn’t laugh it off as a joke anymore. 

He saw Francis coming before Arthur did. He imagined the edge of the sword held to Arthur’s throat felt as cold as the bayonet did on his own.

“Mon ami, you left yourself open.”

“Didn’t anyone tell you to never bring a sword to a gunfight?” Arthur snarled, bayonet still pointed at Alfred’s throat as he turned to the bigger threat.

“Mm, oui, but it did take your attention off the little soldier boy, didn’t it?”

A packet of ammo fell into his lap from heaven and Alfred didn’t think as he quickly loaded his rifle with a click.

A shadow fell over him and Arthur turned to find himself staring down the barrel of a gun that didn’t belong to Alfred, no, but to Gilbert.

The white haired albino smirked. “Just like old times, huh? The whelp needed to be whipped into shape before he was worthy enough to hold a musket.”

Arthur stared into Gilbert’s eyes with an expression Alfred couldn’t decipher before he looked down at Alfred.

He had his rifle pointed at Arthur too.

* * *

_ ‘Love,’  _ Alfred thought,  _ ‘Is torture. But I can’t ever let go of it, can I?’ _

He walked into the medical facility and smiled at the first nurse he saw-- she was pretty cute, he admitted. 

“Hey, Alfred Jones here. I’m an American fighter pilot. My uncle’s supposed to be treated here. His name’s Francis. You know where he is?”

She nodded. “Right this way sir. Though I’d have to suggest that you keep your voice down. Many soldiers are resting right now.”

“Really?” Well, that wasn’t much of a surprise. “Are there any other Americans here?”

“Yes, they should be arriving soon. Lyon still has some Germans around…”

“Right, you guys haven’t completely liberated it yet.” He nodded slowly. Well, having missed when Francis was rescued, he was pretty sure he could make that up by helping liberate Lyon in Francis’ stead. He could bring supplies to the frontlines, smuggle things in and out, carry men from the raging battlefield to where they could be treated. He couldn’t die. He was too strong for a few bullets to keep him down and he’d take full advantage of his biology.

“Nope.” She hummed softly. “But soon we will. The soldiers are working hard on the frontlines... Your family is just right there by the way.” She pointed to a curtained off area that had quite a bit of yelling.  _ Bingo.  _ Yep, this was his family. 

“Thanks-- uh?”

“Emilie.” The nurse answered earnestly. “You have nice people in your family.”

Alfred snickered. “Yeah, we do. I’m surprised you could tell. Anyone would be put off by the yelling first.”

Emilie shrugged. “Aren’t all families like that though?”

“Alfred.” said a soft voice.

Alfred turned and he burst into a smile. “Mattie!”

His twin brother. His other half. Matthew stood, leaning lightly against one of the poles that held up the tents of the facility. He was in his uniform, ever the soldier. Matthew was a better one than Alfred was, that was for sure. 

“How ya been? Your eyes bother you?” Alfred cupped Matthew's face to take a good look into his eyes, which led Matthew to smacking his hands lightly. 

“Hands off, Al.” Matthew rolled his eyes. “Don’t hug Papa by the way. Only Arthur. If you hug Papa, you’ll snap him in half.”

“He’s that bad, huh?” Alfred sighed. Those fucking Germans. He should have been here… 

“No, you’re just strong.” Matthew rolled his eyes. “Though, I’m sure your strength will be appreciated when Lyon is liberated. There’s going to be a lot of fixing to do. Papa is recovering well. He won’t be allowed to join though.”

Alfred tilted his head towards the bickering from inside the curtains. “Is that what they’re arguing about?”

Matthew smiled ever so slightly. “... No.”

And just then, Arthur stormed out, cursing incomprehensibly as he pushed the curtains out of his way. 

“Bloody hell-- I’m so sorry, my apologies-” Arthur spluttered as his arm whacked itself against Alfred’s face, turning before he realized who he had hit.

“Alfred, is that really you?!”

Despite what he told himself, he felt his heart flutter and his cheeks redden. He was glad that Arthur hit his face-- that could explain the redness.

“Yeah!” He put on a grin. “The hero is here!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha so not as much fluff as I promised. Oops? :D forgive me, I love you guys- also, the song is "beautiful dreamer" by bing crosby. i see alfred as a bit of a dreamer and an idealist. hopefully, once this story is over, i hope to have an epilogue that goes on till the 2000's? i also hope to expand to other countries such as korea(both!), vietnam(i'm vietnamese shoutout oops), and a few of the middle eastern countries! but of course, i'm lazy. it's something to dream of for now tho :')


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aah so sorry! It's been like a week since I've replied to your comments and posted a chapter. It's been a long week too. So many Zoom meetings sigh... also League of Legends has a new event and I've been grinding haha. I haven't forgotten about you guys though!! I promise I'll respond to your comments sooner or later. I've been busy >.< Today, we get Matthew's and Arthur's POV!! A bit of real fluff and emotional turmoil :) also you get to see the other side of USUK

Matthew never liked romance. He found it to be too dramatic, a waste of time, and the equivalent of poking a hibernating bear. Take, for instance, what happened with Alfred and Arthur. Then again, countries have demanded for independence for less; take a look at his own country. He had just asked and it was given. 

Romance, as a personification, was also dangerous. One day, you’d be stargazing under the night sky, talking about your futures in hushed whispers and the next day, you’d be staring them down the barrel of your gun. Or, alternatively, you’d be the one to pick up their body from the battlefield, wearing a large trenchcoat and hat of course. You didn’t want anyone to find out your identity and accuse you of being a spy of some sort. You also never knew if they loved you for you, or if they were just gathering information on your country… 

According to Papa, it happened a lot in the old days before he was born. And Papa was the one doing the spying.

In the modern world, of course, it was different. There were clear cut lines of who were allies and therefore who were acceptable to date and to not, no matter past affiliations.

Matthew doesn’t know who made up those rules, but they sounded about right. 

“Does Papa need anything?” He interrupted whatever Alfred and Arthur were talking about.

“Ah…” Arthur’s bushy eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head. “You don't need to worry about it. You should talk with your brother. It’s been too long since you’ve spoken, yes? Letters don’t have the same feeling.”

“Nah, I’m sure Mattie wants to help Pa, right?” Alfred clapped Mattie on the back with a dazzling smile shone in Arthur’s direction. Was that a touch of desperation in Alfred’s voice? “I could always catch up with Matthew later.”

“Right…” Was that a look of disappointment on Arthur’s face? “Well, Francis wanted to see flowers. I promised I’d get some for him but… I suppose you could do that too. You don't need to strain yourself though, son. Stay safe and watch out for the Jerries.”

“I’ll buy a few then.” Matthew said easily. “I’ll make Papa happy and boost the economy.”

“Splendid idea!” Arthur nodded approvingly. 

“I’ll go now.” He quickly walked out, his hands nestling into the pockets of his uniform. Time to let Al do his best to woo Arthur and for Arthur to kindly reject him. He knew the routine. He also knew that despite Al being the new hotshot in the world, he still had a soft heart and a big ego. That meant he skirted around issues that he didn’t have control over and love was a two-way street so Alfred always made little jokes about relationships to Arthur and gave him little gifts in a sad attempt to woo the man.

Of course, Matthew knew it wasn’t going to work. Matthew didn’t like to say that he knew many things, but he could wholeheartedly admit that a relationship between Alfred and Arthur was near impossible. Arthur was a mother hen. Alfred was voraciously independent.

He didn’t need to think beyond that to see why they weren’t a good match though he could think of so many other reasons. 

He breathed in the air-- it was scented with damp gunpowder and grass. It had rained just yesterday and the clean smell was still in the air. Matthew was used to rain. It rains a lot in Canada. If he were to close his eyes, he could imagine himself being there, in his small town home. He never liked big cities. 

“E-excuse moi… me… sir.” came a tiny voice. 

Matthew looked down and a tiny little girl held up a bunch of slightly wilted flowers. 

God, he must look so scary to her. He knelt down with a kind smile and looked her in the eye.

“ _ Yes, how can I help you? _ ” He asked gently. 

The girl gasped softly, her bright brown eyes lighting up with joy. 

She spoke so fast that she was stumbling over her words. “ _ Would you like to buy flowers? _ ”

“ _ Yes. How much for them? _ ”

He’d buy her entire stock. Her petiteness wasn’t just related to her age, he was sure. There weren’t enough people getting food in their bellies these days. And if he could help just one person… one family… 

The girl was slow to answer, avoiding looking into his eyes before she spoke slowly.. “ _ Five francs… is that too much?” _

He kept up his smile even though all he wanted to do was give her all he had in his wallet.

“ _ No. But your flowers are so pretty and I don't have francs. How about ten Canadian dollars?” _

Her eyes gleamed with want. “ _ Is that okay?”  _ She asked timidly. 

“ _ Oui _ .” Matthew nodded and promptly pulled out 10 Canadian dollars. The little girl gave him his flowers carefully, her hands trembling as she did so. She held the Canadian dollars reverently after he gave them to her.

“ _ What’s your name? _ ” He inquired curiously.

“ _ Marguerite _ .” She replied while tucking the money into a pocket of her dress. “ _ What’s yours? _ ” 

“ _ Matthieu.” _ He answered. “ _ How old are you? I’m 19.” _

“ _ Eight. _ ” 

He remembered when he was eight. There was a war going on, just like this one. Guns fired off in the distance and Marguerite winced, whimpering lowly as she covered her ears.

“ _ I can walk you back to your home. Where do you live?” _ He offered. There was once a time where he was the one to whimper at the gunshots in the distance and cling to his stuffed animal. Now, it was just background noise alongside the daily screams and sobs from people who lost and kept losing. Even when this war was won, there are certain things an economy could never bring back. How could you make a parent forget about their children starving to death? How could you regrow a limb? A prosthetic could only do so much. 

Marguerite mumbled a quick answer but her feet and her eyes seemed to be glued to the ground. 

“ _ Do you want me to carry you?” _ He offered and the girl nodded, reaching for his neck as he wrapped his arms around her and stood.

She smushed her face against his shoulder and though Matthew felt like he was choking, he walked on and talked about little asinine things.

“ _ Do you know how to spell your name, Marguerite?” _

_ “No.” _ She sniffled.

“ _ Well, here’s how you spell it.” _

He talked aimlessly as he weaved between alleyways to get to where she lived. He didn’t know the streets of Lyon very well, but he got there eventually. 

He felt a pang in his chest as he let Marguerite down and she ran into an apartment crying for her  _ maman. _ His duty was done here. As he turned around to walk back to the hospital tents, Marguerite called out to him again. She was in her mother's arms and she waved to him as he left.

Matthew reached into his pocket and brushed his fingers over the flowers absentmindedly. They were soft and fragile, and they would die soon. But they were beautiful while they were alive and they’d make Papa so happy. Once they died, they’d be absorbed into the Earth and their seeds would create new flowers and the cycle would continue.

Matthew wondered. Were flowers an analogy for human life or was he just being melodramatic?

* * *

Arthur really wished he had a manual on how to raise personifications. Unfortunately in his millenia of life, he had never come across one, seeing as it was better to kill said child personification than let it live and turn into a threat. When Alfred came around though, things had changed somewhat, and Arthur… Well, he wanted a family. He didn’t want a human family with a human woman who would die in the blink of an eye either. So when Alred came around, he snatched that chance up as quickly as possible. No one could take it from him. He wouldn’t let them. 

He didn’t plan for adolescence to hit though, and it hurt Alfred hard. The sweet little boy he raised grew into a tall, broad, headstrong man with his own thoughts of what should happen and how things should be run. He didn’t listen anymore. And to Alfred, Arthur wasn’t his father anymore, he was something else.

Arthur never really believed in the Oedipus Complex till now.

“So, Artie, how ya been? Wanna take a ride in my plane?” 

Arthur shook himself out of his thoughts and hissed. 

“Absolutely not! That’s a waste of fuel, a danger to both us and civilians if we get shot down,  _ and _ \--”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down there, old man.” Alfred rolled his eyes. “Think of it as reconnaisse, but from the sky. And, I’m an ace, remember that. If we get into a dogfight, we’re 99.9% likely to get out of there alive and kicking.” 

Arthur groaned. “And if we don’t? If we don’t get out of there alive and kicking as you put it, what will happen? We’ll die and we’ll come back with nary an explanation. We’re in the middle of a  _ war _ , Alfred, we have no time for fun and games and especially sight-seeing.”

He felt as though he were a bit too harsh on the poor lad, but lessons needed to be learned. And hopefully, if Arthur was rude enough to him, Alfred’s crush would slowly disappear. 

“C’mon.” Alfred pouted. “Ju--”

“No.”

Alfred’s shoulders slumped in defeat and Arthur sighed. Must Alfred really make him resort to doing that? Being so rude and short with the boy? He didn’t want to. But Alfred pushed him into doing that with his incessant harassment.

“You’re a man now. You have to act like one, Alfred. You can’t be a man and a boy at the same time.” He chided.  _ Just like old times _ . 

Alfred frowned. “Some people can be some of the nicest out there, but secretly, they’re a monster. Or alternatively, even a monster can be nice. So why can’t I be a man and a boy at the same time?”

“Because those two things are bad.” Arthur said scaldingly. Did his boy really forget about morals and ethics? Chivalry? Adulting? “You’ll just be a boy parading as a man then.”

“Or I could be a man that still knows how to be a boy.” Alfred retorted. “You don’t have to be stuck up about things, you know. It’s okay to let yourself be a kid sometimes.”

“I--”

They were interrupted by a soft ‘ahem.’

“Though I really do appreciate your debate on how to be a man, we have patients who need to rest.” A doctor, the one who treated Francis, said dryly. “If you want to talk, take it outside, gentlemen.” 

“Ah yes… my apologies.” Arthur murmured, interrupting whatever Alfred was about to say. “I’ll check up on Francis. He needs to eat soon.”

Thank God for the doctor diffusing that. He’d need to thank the man later. Francis really did need to eat soon too, bloody hell, he couldn’t believe he forgot!

“Right. And you.” The doctor turned to Alfred, interrupting the boy once again.

“You’re a strong, American man, right?” He stared Alfred in the eyes.

“Uh-- Yep! Strong and American!” Alfred yelped.

“Great. Then you can help me move these fragile crates. They’re filled with medicine and food. What are you staring at? Come on--!”

Alfred hurried after the doctor who had started to briskly walk in the other direction. Arthur watched Alfred as he left and Arthur wondered.

_ When had he grown so tall? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hope you enjoyed! Have a nice quarantine everyone and I'll be back with a new chapter soon <3 also if you play League of Legends and are in the NA server, HMU XD


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO I AM NOT DEAD !!!  
> I'm sorry I kept you all waiting :(  
> school just got to me and asdfghjkl;'  
> i'm taking 2 APs and a college class (dual enrollment) aaaand I'm a junior this year go figure. supes busy :(  
> i'll update when i can tho and this chapter is different ! instead of juggling two POVs and giving myself more work, I'll just elaborate on 1 POV !! This is a bit rushed but I hope yall still enjoy !! <3

Francis absentmindedly hummed as Arthur ran his hands through his matted hair. “Are you going to cut it soon?”

Arthur sighed. “Maybe. Is it uncomfortable for you?” He asked in such a mother-hen manner that made Francis want to sigh exasperatedly. It also made him 

“A bit, yes.” Francis admitted. That was an understatement. It felt like he had an itchy mop on his head that scratching wouldn’t stop. When he slept, the sensation of little bugs crawling all over him was horrid and made him think that he was back in that dark, damp dungeon. 

“I’ll cut it today then.” Arthur sighed. “I have a razor. Did you enjoy the flowers Matthew bought?”

“I did.” They were in a cup that was marginally filled with water right by Francis’ cot. The flowers, tiny and white, were a touch of purity. They grew despite the war going on. “Can you cut my hair soon, please?” His voice sounded tiny and reedy. It was like he was whining. He knew there were better things that Arthur could be up to, but he  _ needed  _ this. “It’s itchy and it disturbs my sleep.”

Arthur was immediately spluttering. “Of course I’ll cut it! My God, you should have told me sooner.” He fussed, immediately removing his hands from Francis’ hair to reach into his pocket. “Alright, do you want to do this outside or would you rather I do it right here?” He asked worriedly. The corners of his eyes were getting wrinkled. He must not be getting enough sleep lately.

Francis shrugged. “Whatevers fine.” He murmured. “I don’t mind…” He wanted to go outside. He hadn’t been outside yet. But he didn’t want to burden Arthur with his stupid whims… 

Arthur pursed his lips. “ Let’s have you go outside. You haven’t gotten any sun at all.” Francis would be lying if he said that he wasn’t happy. 

“I’ll bring over a chair--”

“No, I want to walk.” Francis interrupted. “Please. I need to.” He had to make sure he still could. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew he thrashed and kicked in his sleep. Whenever he awoke, however, the blankets would still be on him, like he hadn’t done his damnedest to get away from phantom hands that lurked within the shadows, always ready to pounce on any sign of weakness, to drag him back… there. 

“Francis!” 

“Yes?” He murmured absentmindedly. He shook his head. “I’m… sorry. It’s hard to focus.” A little voice in the back of his mind whispered that it was probably Arthur or Matthew, or even Alfred who adjusted his blankets for him whenever he kicked them off, but he wasn’t sure and he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask. 

Arthur sighed. “I said that if you wanted to walk, you’d need to lean on me. I will be your crutch.” He said forcefully. There was no arguing against that. “Now. I’m going to help you up, alright? And you will lean on me and we’ll start slow. One foot in front of the other. You don’t need to rush it.” Arthur said gently. 

“Alright…” 

“Ready? One-and-!” 

There was a grunting from Francis as he, with the help of Arthur, stood up. Francis wheezed and stumbled, leaning heavily on Arthur who kept a hand around his back for balance. He started sympathetically at Francis. “Do you need to sit down for a moment?” Arthur asked gently. “There’s no shame in that you should know.

Francis shook his head and grunted. “No, Arthur, please.” He looked despairingly at Arthur. “Let me do this.”

“... Alright then.” He knew that Arthur didn’t approve, but like a spoiled child, he had to have his way. He needed this… damn anyone who thought otherwise.

Arthur and Francis walked in silence, pausing whenever Arthur thought necessary (and frankly, most of the time, he was right). The infirmary patients and doctors and nurses who were all bustling around paid them no mind. They were just two men, maybe brothers, maybe just strangers that were helping the other out. 

When Arthur and Francis were just walking by, two soldiers barely over the age of Alfred and Matthew gave up their seats for them. With a thankful smile, Arthur and Francis sat down, with Francis heaving heavily while Arthur panted softly. It was hot. Arthur offered Francis a flask of water which Francis downed thankfully. They sat quietly. Francis was still leaning on Arthur, who smelled like cigarettes and watered-down tea.

“Have you been smoking, Arthur?” Francis inquired softly.

Arthur snorted. “Are you that desperate for a fag?” His tone was teasing, however, Francis could smell the tobacco on his breath. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to smoke like this.” He replied sardonically.” And maybe that’s a good thing.” God knew how much he smoked and cherubs probably got into coughing fits whenever they were around him. Maybe that’s why his love life had been shit for the past few centuries. 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “If you’ve enough energy to be sassy with me, you’ve enough to walk. Get up now, froggie.” He said with a smirk. 

“Fine.” Francis was able to stand up, despite his aching joints and straining muscles. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere.” replied Arthur, rather mysteriously. 

With an arm around Arthur and with Arthur’s arm around his waist, they walked on. They walked till the infirmary was but a speck in the distance and Francis felt himself lean more and more against Arthur till he was practically being dragged by Arthur at this point. 

“Do we really need to go any farther?...” What if there were Germans around?

They were at the base of a large tree, within its shadow. 

“No, we’re stopping here.” Arthur said dismissively as he helped Francis sit down. His muscles pulsed with relief and he let out a soft ‘ah’ as he laid down and closed his eyes. He sunk into the soil with a sigh. Blades of green tickled at his exposed skin. The fresh smell of the grass pierced his nostrils and he spotted a dandelion out of the corner of his eye. “Arthur.”

“Yes?” Arthur was sitting and leaning back against the tree. 

With nimble fingers, Francis plucked the dandelion and held it up to Arthur. “What do you wish for?”

Arthur took the weed from Francis and humorously replied. “I’d like for this war to end, first of all.” And secondly, I hope that you grow your long mane of hair back as fast as possible.”

“Do you like it that much?” Francis teased. “I’ll make sure to grow it even longer than it was before then.”

“Piss off, frog.” Arthur huffed good-naturedly. “Now, sit up. Let me shave your head.”

Francis sat up and tilted his head down so that his chin was touching his chest. “Is this good?” He murmured.”

“Perfect, poppet. Just close your eyes and relax now.”

He closed his eyes and next he opened them, he could feel the wind on the back of his neck. 

“Francis? Are you awake?”

His hand immediately went to the back of his head and he brushed his fingertips where matted tresses should be, but weren’t there anymore. He felt short, scruffy hair poke back at his hand.

“Well, what do you think?” 

Francis turned to look at Arthur. “Well… it depends on what you think? Do you think I still look handsome?” It was meant to be flirty, but it came out quiet.

Arthur blinked once, then twice. “How could I ever not find you handsome, you silly git?”


End file.
